Robert Sawyer: Quantum Night

“Huh,” he said. “And do you think I’m a psycho?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I replied, placing my briefcase on the wooden table and snapping the clasps open. “So let’s find out.”

“Professor Marchuk, were you present when my learned opponent, the District Attorney, introduced one of her expert witnesses, psychiatrist Samantha Goldsmith?”

I tried to sound calm but, man, this was nerve-wracking. Oh, sure, I was used to the Socratic method in academic settings, but here, in this sweltering courtroom, a person’s life was on the line. I leaned forward. “Yes, I was.”

Juan Garcia’s chin jutted like the cattle catcher on a locomotive. “Sitting there, in the third row, weren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you recall Dr. Goldsmith giving a clinical opinion of the defendant, Devin Becker?”

“I do.”

“And what was her diagnosis?”

“She contended that Mr. Becker is not a psychopath.”

“And did Dr. Goldsmith explain the technique by which she arrived at that conclusion?”

I nodded. “Yes, she did.”

“Are you familiar with the technique she used?”

“Intimately. I’m certified in administering it myself.”

Juan had a way of moving his head that reminded me of a hawk, pivoting instantly from looking this way to that way; he was now regarding the jury. “Perhaps you can refresh the memories of these good men and women, then. What technique did Dr. Goldsmith employ?”

“The Hare Psychopathy Checklist, Revised,” I said.

“Commonly called ‘the Hare Checklist,’ or ‘the PCL-R,’ correct?”

“That’s right.”

A quick pivot back toward me. “And, before we go further, again, just to remind us, a psychopath is…?”

“An individual devoid of empathy and conscience, a person who doesn’t feel for other people—someone who only cares about his or her own self-interest.”

“And the Hare Checklist? Refresh the jury on that, please.”

“Robert Hare identified twenty characteristics that define a psychopath—everything from glibness and superficial charm to promiscuity and lack of remorse.”

“And, again, remind us: to be a psychopath, do you need to exhibit all twenty of the traits he identified?”

I shook my head. “No. There’s a numerical scoring system.”

“The subject fills out a form?”

“No, no. A person specially trained in Professor Hare’s technique conducts an interview with the subject and also reviews police records, psychiatric reports, employment history, education, and so on. The expert then scores the subject on each of the twenty traits, assigning a zero if a given trait—pathological lying, say—is not present; a one if it matches to a certain extent—perhaps they lie all the time in personal relationships but never in business dealings, or vice versa; and a two if there’s a reasonably good match for the trait in most aspects of the person’s life.”

“And the average total score on the twenty items is?”

“For normal people? Very low: four out of a possible maximum of forty.”

“And what score do you need to be a psychopath?”

“Thirty or above.”

“And do you recall the score Dr. Goldsmith assigned to the defendant Mr. Becker?”

“I do. She gave him a seventeen.”

“Professor Marchuk, were you also here in this courtroom when we—the defense—presented an expert witness, another psychologist, prior to bringing you to the stand?”

I nodded again. “I was.”

“That psychologist, Dr. Gabor Bagi, testified that he, too, administered the same psychopathy test to Devin Becker. Do you recall that?”

“Yes.”

“And did Dr. Bagi come up with the same score as Dr. Goldsmith?”

“No. He gave Mr. Becker a score of thirty-one.”

Juan did a good job of sounding astonished. “Thirty-one out of forty? Whereas Dr. Goldsmith came up with seventeen?”

“Correct.”

His head snapped toward the jury. “How do you account for the discrepancy?”

“Well, although Professor Hare’s checklist is supposed to be as objective as possible, his test is prone to some inter-rater disagreement in non-research clinical settings. But a difference of fourteen points?” I shrugged my shoulders beneath my blue suit. “I can’t account for that.”

Snapping back to me: “Still, our score of thirty-one puts Mr. Becker over the legal line into psychopathy with room to spare, while the score Dr. Goldsmith obtained leaves Mr. Becker far away from being a psychopath, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And, given that the State is seeking the death penalty, the question of whether or not Mr. Becker is a clinical psychopath—whether or not he had any volition in his behavior—is crucial in determining his sentence, which puts the good men and women of the jury in the unenviable, but regrettably common, position of having to choose between conflicting expert testimonies, isn’t that so?”

“No,” I said.

“I beg your pardon, Professor Marchuk?”

My heart was pounding, but I managed to keep my tone absolutely level. “No. Dr. Goldsmith is dead wrong, and Dr. Bagi is right. Devin Becker is a psychopath, and I can prove it—prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“A simple yes-or-no test for psychopathy?” Heather said as she looked across the restaurant table at me. “Surely that’s not possible.”

“Oh, but it is. And I’ve discovered it.”

My sister was one of my favorite people, and I was one of hers; I think we’d have been friends even if we hadn’t been related. She was forty-two, almost exactly three years older than I, and worked as a corporate litigator in Calgary. Every now and then her work brought her here to Winnipeg, and whenever it did, we hung out together.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Surely there’s a spectrum for psychopathy.”

I shook my head. “Everyone wants everything to be on a spectrum these days. Autism is the classic example: ‘autism spectrum disorder.’ We have this desire for things to be analog, to have infinite gradations. But humans fundamentally aren’t analog; life isn’t analog. It’s digital. Granted, it’s not base-two binary; it’s base-four. Literally base-four: the four bases—adenine, cytosine, guanine, and thymine—that make up the genetic code. There’s nothing analog about that, and there’s nothing analog about most of the human condition: you’re either alive or dead; you either do or don’t have the genes for Alzheimer’s; and you either are or aren’t a psychopath.”

“Okay, fine. So how do you know? What’s the binary test for psychopathy?”

“You ever see The Silence of the Lambs?”

She nodded, honey-colored hair touching her shoulders as she did so. “Sure. Read the book, too.”

I was curious as to whether she’d picked it up after she’d started dating Gustav. “When?” I asked offhandedly.

“The movie? When I was in law school. The book? Maybe ten years ago.”

I resisted shaking my head. Gustav had only been on the scene for six months now, but I was sure he was a psychopath. Not the violent sort that Thomas Harris had depicted in his novel—psychopathy was indeed binary, but it manifested itself in different ways; in Gustav’s case, that meant narcissistic, manipulative, and selfish behavior. A self-styled actor—IMDb had no entry for him—he apparently lived off a succession of professional women; my ever-kindhearted sister, so sharp in legal matters, seemed utterly oblivious to this. Or maybe not: I’d attempted to broach the topic a couple of times before, but she’d always shut me down, saying she was happy, all right?, and I should let her be.